


C'est Mardi Gras, Mon Cher

by RoswellSmokingWoman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, Hannibal is a kinky man what can I say, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slapping, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: Hannibal comes up with just the right way to celebrate Mardi Gras with Will.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	C'est Mardi Gras, Mon Cher

**Author's Note:**

> I can't explain myself. But I have no regrets. I took four years of French, but it may be a bit rusty. 
> 
> C'est Mardi Gras: It's Mardi Gras  
> Mon cher: My dear  
> Voulez vous couché avec moi?: Will you sleep with me?  
> Je voudrais te niquer: I would like to fuck you.

C’est Mardi Gras, Mon Cher

When the clock hands pass the hour, Hannibal doesn’t believe that Will would come. Even so, he waits patiently at the dinner table hoping that Will would come with some satisfactory excuse to pardon his lateness. Another several minutes pass before Hannibal stands from the table, walking to the kitchen to check that the food is still warm. He sighs, poking a fork through the rice in the Jambalaya. It was not something Hannibal would usually make, but exceptions had to be made for his darling Will. Their relationship is still new, both learning to navigate through their lives together. This is an important evening for Hannibal, and his heart cracks at the thought that Will might not come.

The doorbell rings half an hour late, and Hannibal rushes to the door, pausing for a moment to straighten his suit and hair. He opens the door to find Will disheveled and panting. “The car broke down three miles back, and my phone’s dead.”

Hannibal pulls Will into the home, placing a hand on the small of Will’s back. “I thought you would stay late for work, darling. Are you alright?”

Will nods, “Just exhausted and hungry.”

Hannibal smiles at the word, “Dinner’s ready. I’ll make you a plate; all you need to do is sit down.”

The dinner begins slowly. As Will chews, his plump lips deepen in color. With each breath Will takes between bites, it’s almost as if his lips beg for Hannibal to place morsels of food in between them. Hannibal lowers his gaze when Will lifts his head to look at Hannibal who’s barely touched his own food.

“This is amazing,” Will tells him, taking another bite. “Not as fancy as your usual meals, though.”

“C’est Mardi Gras,” Hannibal husks. “I thought a meal from your past might be in order. The sausages are homemade.” The implication floats in between them thickly, Hannibal’s eyes filling with arousal at the thought of Will consuming the food he’s worked so hard to procure for them. Hannibal loves to provide for Will.

Hannibal watches Will as he eats with gusto, polishing off his first plate in a matter of minutes. He breathes in deeply, his abdomen expanding, but he still feels famished. He asks for a second helping, and Hannibal is almost too quick to accommodate.

The second plate is larger than the last, more meat added this time. Will is starving, after all. He’d just ran to Hannibal for their dinner—he must be nourished. Will eats slower this time, talking to Hannibal between bites.

“I should make dinner, sometime. For you. You are always working so hard, and then you find the time to cook for us both as if you’re hosting a dinner party.”

It is not lost on Will that Hannibal had carefully decorated their dining table in gold and purple. Purple roses sit in the center of the table in a gold vase. They eat off of gold rimmed dishes and drink from purple stained glass. Will’s heart swells at the display of care. He remembers New Orleans from decades ago, gorging himself with food for the holiday, the music on the streets rumbling through his window.

“It’s really not necessary. It makes me happy to do this for you, for us.”

While Will continues to talk to Hannibal, mentioning his childhood and the year he had lost his virginity on Mardi Gras, Hannibal can only focus on the slight curve of Will’s abdomen pushing through his button down. Will’s already full, but he continues to eat—perhaps out of habit since it is the holiday. Hannibal inhales sharply as Will places his hand on his stomach, stroking it lightly to alleviate the pressure. It’s then that Will looks up and notices the lust pooling in Hannibal’s eyes, and Will wonders what had brought it out.

Hannibal is normally composed during their dinners, believing it to be a sacred time for them. But now, Hannibal barely touches his food and has his eyes on Will. It’s unlike him to let his food go cold. Will places another bite of food in his mouth, carefully watching Hannibal.

“Are you listening?” Will asks.

Hannibal shakes his head. “I apologize. I let my mind wander. I spent too much time alone today, perhaps.”

Will finishes off his plate, breathing in deeply at the sensation of fullness he feels. “I think I’ve eaten too much,” he comments, leaning back in his chair.

“There’s still desert,” Hannibal reminds him, taking both of their plates off of the table.

“I don’t think I have room!” Will shouts after Hannibal, who ignores his protests.

Hannibal returns with a tray of beignets, golden brown and coated beautifully in powdered sugar. Will guffaws at the mountain of beignets as Hannibal sets them down in front of him. Instead of sitting at the head of the table, Hannibal instead scoots a chair close to Will and sits down.

“Do you intend to stuff me like a goose and turn my liver into pâté?” Will asks Hannibal, placing a hand on his swollen stomach emphasizing how stuffed he already is.

Hannibal’s eyes become clouded with lust at the sight, and he places a hand next to Will’s. His stomach is still a bit soft, indicating that there is room in there yet for a few beignets. Hannibal’s mouth waters at the thought, already imagining powdered sugar, coating Will’s cherry lips.

“Not quite,” Hannibal responds in a low whisper. He picks up a beignet with his fingers, squishing it ever so lightly, and places it on Will’s lips.

“Do you enjoy feeding me, Hannibal?” Will asks him then, taking a small bite out of the beignet. “Do you like seeing me round and filled with the food you’ve prepared? Does it make you ache?” 

Hannibal’s cock presses tightly against his pants, pleased that Will’s figured it out and isn’t protesting his advances.

Will places a hand over the distinct tent of Hannibal’s pants, stroking slowly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he mumbles as he takes a larger bite this time.

Will continues to stroke Hannibal as Hannibal feeds him beignets until Will finds it nearly difficult to breathe, his stomach hard and feeling the food sitting in his throat. “I’m so full, Hannibal,” he tells him.

“Just one more,” Hannibal practically begs, taking another pastry into his hand. “For me, darling?”

Will nods, taking bite after bite, maintaining eye contact with Hannibal until he manages to swallow the last thickly. “I’m not done yet,” Will whispers as he takes Hannibal’s hand and places Hannibal’s index finger in his mouth, sucking off the powdered sugar. He licks the tip of it first, lowering his mouth slowly down the appendage, before lifting it out of his mouth and moving on to Hannibal’s thumb.

Hannibal moans out in pleasure, before taking Will’s face into his hands and pulling Will in for a kiss. Hannibal can taste the medley of dinner against Will’s lips, thinking of how Will had gorged himself so beautifully for him. Hannibal deepens the kiss, biting down onto Will’s lips.

“Voulez vous couché avec moi?” Hannibal whispers into Will’s ear, nipping on Will’s ear lobe. “Je voudrais te niquer.”

“Yes, please, Hannibal,” Will moans out.

“Bend over on the table,” Hannibal commands, and Will obliges, taking his pants down so that his greedy ass is on full display.

Hannibal slaps it playfully, watching it jiggle a bit. Hannibal removes his pants, instructing Will, “Don’t make a single move. I want to do everything for you.” Hannibal begins stroking himself, watching Will’s distended stomach hanging over the edge of the table.

“Please,” Will begs then, feeling so empty despite the fullness of his belly. “I need you to fill me up.”

“Oh, my darling boy,” Hannibal husks, reaching for the olive oil on the table and using it as lubricant. As he strokes himself, he imagines that it is Will hand instead, preparing him.

Hannibal places the tip of his cock into Will’s needy hole, teasing him. He pushes in and out slowly, only with the very tip. Frustrated, Will moves backwards, his stomach heaving with weight, taking more of Hannibal’s large member.

Hannibal slaps Will’s ass, the sound resonating through their dining room. Hannibal knows it will leave a bruise, and he will look at it as Will dresses the next morning, reminding him of who Will belongs to. “You are so very naughty, mon cher,” Hannibal groans out, placing his hands at Will’s hips. “But if you wish to be used like the greedy pig you are…” He begins thrusting harder with the full length of himself.

Will had never felt a sensation quite like this before, so full he can barely breathe, but wanting more. He would give up oxygen for this feeling, to be so stuffed by Hannibal and Hannibal’s cooking. His mind spins, the pendulum swinging. He sees himself from Hannibal’s eyes, stuffed and needy—almost helpless but well provided for. He looks so delicious, nearly good enough to eat. He’s almost on the edge at the sheer thought, precum dripping from his cock and onto his thigh.

“I’m so close, Hannibal,” Will moans out.

“Not yet, darling. I want to have you all night.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Will groans out, cum dripping down his thigh.

Hannibal thrusts harder into Will several more times before coming into him, “I will have to have you a few more times.”

“There’s more of me to have now, after all,” Will quips, panting against the table.

Will sits down on the chair, huffing, his pants thrown somewhere on the floor. “I assumed the dining room was a sacred place for you,” Will states then.

“And you are my religion,” Hannibal responds, placing a deep kiss on Will’s lips. “It’s only right to worship you with everything I have.”


End file.
